I Can Hurt You The Most When I Don't Touch You
by angel-death-dealer
Summary: It doesn't get any easier for Oliver to watch his loved ones get hurt, and this time the guilt is choking him. If she'd just open her eyes... Oliver/Felicity


The Intensive Care Unit at Starling General Hospital was a place that Oliver Queen had become quite acquainted with over the years. The hospital overall had been something of a pit stop for him at least once a year, but ever since he'd ended up collapsed in the hallway when Thea was declared gone (temporarily), he'd become more and more familiar with these laminate floors and white walls. He was certain the flyers on the pin board were becoming tailored to him - except the one about ensuring gynaecological exams were done regularly - and he was glad to see that he was at least getting some use out of the sizeable donation he'd made to this wing several years ago.

He'd been here once himself. Only once, mind you, three years ago. He'd taken a bullet to the chest which had punctured his lung, and after some complications in surgery they'd kept him in the ICU overnight to ensure he kept breathing. Nothing out the ordinary considering the damage caused, but it sounded a lot more dramatic when Felicity told the story - which she did, every time she argued he wasn't taking care of himself enough. He was so full of medication that night that he'd slept through most of his stay, and he didn't remember much of anything until he was moved to a regular room for his final night before going home.

He hated the idea of the place, despite it's use. He hated that there was a place within a life-saving building that you went to when the usual medics weren't able to patch you up properly. He hated the reminder of how fragile life was. Of how easily it could be lost.

"Hey, man."

He looked up from his perch when he heard Diggle's voice. He blindly took the cup of coffee from him that he offered. "Thanks," he muttered quietly.

Oliver had been hovering in this hallway for hours now. He hadn't bothered to track the time they'd arrived here, so it was useless trying to figure out how long exactly; he'd lost count and he'd certainly lost sleep. He wasn't supposed to be here, either, but Lance had made some calls, and when that hadn't been enough, Diggle had gotten on to Waller, and it was amazing, really, the lengths you had to go to to bypass standard visiting hours in a hospital these days.

There weren't any chairs in this hall, which had been inconvenient. There were seats inside the individual rooms, but since they weren't supposed to be loitering in the hallway, Oliver had been slumped against the wall on the ground the entire time, ignoring the cold feel of the floor beneath him. When he'd stood he'd been trembling, though he wasn't sure if that was from relief, lack of food and drink through the most part of the day, or the fear of what still awaited him.

The coffee, he found, helped. Perhaps it was just lack of sugar.

"Any news yet?" Diggle asked him.

Oliver shook his head. "Just that someone should be with us soon. That was…." he checked his watch, and sighed heavily. "An hour ago. Did you call-?"

"Donna's on her way," he confirmed quietly, and Oliver merely nodded in response.

No sooner had they lapsed back into silence, one of the doctors approached them, and Oliver was on his feet instantly. He listened to the words he spoke, only taking in the important ones. Lucky. Internal bleeding. No brain injury. Several broken bones. Further surgery required. After waking.

Wait, what?

"She's not awake?" Oliver asked, interrupting what the doctor was saying about the possibility of rehabilitation treatments if the damage was as extensive as they feared. "Is that the anaesthetic, or…?"

"No, it's simply her body catching up with what happened," the doctor explained. "It's not a coma, she's just...taking time out," he continued in layman's terms. Usually Oliver could understand the complex medical jargon, but not when all he was thinking about was the person they were discussing. She clouded his mind, impaired his judgement, and though his words should reassure him, they didn't. "Now, we are confident that this first surgery went well, but in the event she does need a further surgery, we'd like to keep her in the ICU as a precaution."

Diggle was asking questions that Oliver couldn't voice, but his feet felt heavy when they moved towards the door. He almost didn't stop when they reached it, but the increased pounding in his heart made him fall short, leaning against the door frame support because his legs no longer seemed capable.

"In light of the circumstances and your very generous donations to this wing, you're welcome to stay as long as you wish to, Mr. Queen," the doctor told him as he turned to leave.

As if he'd leave her.

The room seemed small in appearance, considering how much machinery it was filled with. There were so many monitors and tubes that it should have frightened him, but it wasn't the daunting screens that instilled fear within him, it was the figure within the bed that made his heart ache.

"Felicity," he whispered breathlessly.

She was stone still, her arms draped over the blankets that covered the bandages from the surgery she'd recently returned from. Her skin was deathly pale, despite the blood transfusion he'd been informed mid-way through her surgery that she'd received. Her blonde hair was spread across the thin pillow, still slightly curled from how she'd prepared it after her last shower, but they'd covered her hair during surgery and now the springing curls were duller, with less life. The remaining touches of her pink lipstick were barely visible beneath the oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth.

"It's just precaution," Diggle reminded him quietly.

There was that word again. Precaution. It didn't give him the impression that she was as okay as they kept trying to make him believe. Precaution was in place because there was a risk, and risk was what alarmed him. From what experience told him, people were only told not to be alarmed when there was a valid reason to be terrified. Even though he'd been assured that she was going to survive, he realised that there was still an underlying risk until she was awake - and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what the risks were - a risk that her stitches would tear? That the second surgery would be bigger? That the first surgery would fail? More complications? Post-op infections?

A risk that she could still die?

A strong burning behind his eyes caused him to blink harshly, trying to swallow the thick lump in his throat. He had to break away for a moment, to bow his head so that he couldn't see Felicity looking like that, and one hand rose to hide his face. He tried to control his breathing as it suddenly seemed to escape and overwhelm him, determined not to lose control as he already had done twice since they' been here, but it was hard. The day - two days? how long had it been? - had been so long and painful that this was just the twist of the knife in his gut on top of it.

A firm hand came down on his shoulder, an odd gentleness in its weight, and Oliver looked up to Diggle. "Look what I did to her," he choked out.

"You didn't do this, Oliver," Diggle told him.

"It was my fault she was still in the building when it came down," he insisted, flinging his arm to the side to gesture to her. "Look at her, Dig, she looks dea-."

He cut off harshly, swallowing down the last part of the word he was afraid to speak lest it came true.

"This was not your fault," Diggle said firmly. "You need to get that into your head quickly, because this is not what she needs from you right now." He use the hand on Oliver's shoulder to physically turn him back to Felicity. "You were there when she needed help. No one knew what was going to happen until it did. But you got her out. You kept her alive until medics arrived, and you did everything you could."

Oliver sighed in a fractured way, closing his eyes.

"You were there, Oliver," Diggle continued. "She's going to live because you were there."

Oliver inhaled sharply, a sound that he tried to disguise. He didn't try to reply, he just wiped a hand over his face and stepped shakily to her side. He wanted to stay away to avoid seeing the damage that had been caused to her, but he knew the right place to be was at her side. Diggle waited in the doorway, in case Oliver had a lapse of judgement and made a bid for solitude.

When Oliver reached her bedside, he half expected her to open her eyes, her beautiful eyes, and be glad to see him or just a moment before she started insisting that this wasn't his fault. He pulled one of the visitor chairs to her bedside and took her limp hand in his, careful not to disturb any of the tubes attached to her arm. The hand felt warm in his own, which comforted him more than he could describe. Warm like morning coffee. Warm like laughter echoed off the shower walls. Warm like skin on skin. Warm like life. But there was one thing missing. He moved a hand to his pocket, and startled with a jumping breath when he found it to be empty.

"Here."

Diggle was behind him down, extending a hand to him with a circle of gold inside his palm. Oliver didn't remember letting it leave his hand, but luckily Diggle had picked it up when it slipped his grasp. His own ring felt heavy on his hand knowing that hers had been removed for her surgery and given to him by the nurses.

He slid it back onto her hand, where it belonged, where he'd first placed it on their wedding day, and he squeezed the digits lightly. It wasn't too tight an action, but it was enough to let her know that he was there if she could feel him. He sighed after, bringing their clasped hands to his forehead, resting against them. "Married four months and I nearly lose her…"

"She's alive," Diggle told him. "That's all that matters."

Diggle left after a few moments, wanting to get home to Lyla and to update everyone on Felicity's condition. He'd be back the following day after picking Donna up from the airport. In the meantime, Oliver was left completely alone with her still form.

He tried to convince himself that it wasn't all that different from the way she'd fall asleep reading with her head in his lap while he watched Sports Center, and he'd watch her for an hour before carrying her to bed. She slept so heavily it was easy to move her. It wasn't the same, though, because of the beeping monitors, because of the wires, because her lips were covered by a mask.

He felt himself letting out a breath he wasn't sure he'd even been holding, but as he released it he felt a constriction in his chest disappearing. Now that he was beside her and could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest he could see that the movements were slightly out of sync and untimed, proving that her breathing wasn't synthetic and was entirely of her own accord.

Allowing his weakness to drown him, he went to lay his head down beside her, the top of his head cushioned at the side of her stomach - luckily, he felt no unnatural padding of bandages there. Having her body for a pillow bought back memories of only two nights ago when they'd curled around each other and fought off the plagues that his nightmares still bought.

"Love you," he whispered to their still joined hands. "Please, wake up soon. I'm right here. Just...Let me know you're okay."

She didn't. Not yet. But he was there and she was alive.

It wasn't the way that he imagined they'd be lying together now all this was over, but they were together and alive, and for now, that was victory enough.


End file.
